Streets of Midgar
by Mana-Garmr
Summary: What could have happened in The Reaper, if Reno was just a little bit crazier. Set in the Reaper-verse, but NOT part of the arc! Yaoi, noncon, lots of gore a-la-Reno.
1. Prologue

**Warnings:**

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><p><em>Prologue – Streets of Midgar<em>

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><p><em>Year 485<em>

A crimson stain spread rapidly around the boy's feet. He stood in his kitchen, the broken-down shack silent except for the sound of flies, buzzing erratically around the corpses. A knife hung loosely in his hand; the dark blade was coated in the same blood that stained the floor. Some of his own was probably mixed in with the other's; the wounds on his cheeks still oozed their testament to the cruelties that this knife had already performed this day. The boy turned slowly towards the hallway, his blank eyes reflecting neither the grisly scene in front of him nor the turmoil that slowly threatened to fracture his mind. His bare feet left a trail of bloody footprints behind as he headed for the door.

* * *

><p>Veld leaned forward on his desk, staring past the steeple of his hands at the two Turks standing before him.<p>

Vincent was an old friend; they had gone through the Training Center together, years before Vincent was assigned to the Science Department and ran afoul of Hojo. His stoic friend had died and been, for all practical purposes, reborn, locked away in a mako tube that froze his age and his features. He was quieter now than he had ever been; although the physical scars of his time in the labs had healed, Veld doubted that some of the mental wounds ever would.

Tseng, on the other hand, was new to the Department. Trained in the temples of Wutai, the impassive young man was already skilled in the martial arts when he was recruited. A sharp mind had lent itself well towards excelling in the Turks, but in spite of his skills he was unable to fully avoid persecution as a result of his heritage. He had developed a cold, unforgiving disposition as a result, as much an armor as Vincent's brooding.

Veld had long hoped that the two would one day work together; he'd thought that they would find commonality and friendship in their haunted pasts and similar natures. He was, unfortunately, wrong. They didn't fight, per se – they were both too well-controlled to stoop to such levels. They simply… tolerated each other. Barely. Veld sighed internally. Their enmity was only going to make his announcement more difficult.

"Gentlemen. You're both aware that I've been reviewing the senior Turks for a second in command, correct?" They nodded, both tensing imperceptibly at the implications of that statement. One of them would be SiC, or he wouldn't be telling them this. What remained to be seen was why they _both_ were present; he couldn't have two Seconds. After giving them a few seconds to process, Veld continued.

"Vincent, you've been my friend for a very long time. You're a highly capable operative, skilled at both field and garrison work. You're capable of managing people, capable of managing this Department, but… you are not the best person suited for this job. You have trouble forming personal connections – you brood far too much to be healthy – and you have a tendency to overthink your reactions to people and events. Tseng. You are also highly capable, skilled, and have excellent management abilities. Unfortunately, you _also_ have difficulties forming personal connections – people find you cold and unapproachable, and you do nothing to alter that perception. You do, however, have a more instinctive grasp of how to react in certain situations.

"For these reasons, Tseng will become my official Second-in-Command. You, Vincent, will be his partner." Veld almost smiled, watching them react to his last sentence. Controlled and emotionless as they both attempted to be, Tseng couldn't _quite_ keep his jaw from clenching, and Vincent couldn't _quite_ keep from tucking his chin defensively. Neither of them wanted anything to do with each other as partners. "Your personalities and differing approaches to problem-solving will complement each other, whether either of you think it's a good idea or not." They both looked a little guilty at that, although they did their best to hide it, and Veld couldn't prevent the dry chuckle this time. "You two _will_ get along, eventually, whether you ever grow to be _friends_ or not. I expect professionalism and civility out of both of you; set the example for the junior Turks in the Department. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

Tseng's response was frosty, Vincent's a little more morose. Veld managed to contain his laughter until they were gone, the sound-proofed door securely shut behind them

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><p><strong>AN:**

I'm sorry, I know I just said that I shouldn't do this, because I have a handful of in-progress stories already, but I've had this Reaper-alternate stuck in my head for way too long to let it go, now that I'm in a writing mood! Some of this will parallel the events of the original Reaper story, but this is a stand-alone fanfic, not part of the Reaper Arc.


	2. Chapter 1

**Warnings: **Sexual Content, Murder, Language

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><p><em>Chapter One<em>

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><p><em>Year 486<em>

The boy cleaned himself meticulously, ignoring how the cheap inn's shower continuously shifted between lukewarm and freezing cold. He was careful in his scrubbing: underneath the fingernails, in between fingers and toes, in the folds of his outer ears. _Inside, _too, and that had to be followed by bleach down the drain, just in case. No hairs allowed down the drain either; he stared at the floor of the tub intently during the entire ordeal to make sure that none of _those_ slipped by.

After the shower was done, the dingy hotel towel went into his bag; so did a small plastic bag containing the handful of hairs that he'd cleaned up from the shower, from the bedroom. The knife was safely back in its sheath, his distinctive red hair tucked up under a plain black beanie. There was nothing he could do about the scars, but then again, most people in the Slums had scars. Checking his wan reflection in the mirror, the boy nodded to himself and stepped out into the bedroom.

The boy spared only a glance for the body that lay spread-eagled across the bed; a few flushable wet-wipes had taken care of anything left behind on the man's cock, and the boy never allowed himself to come when he did this so cleanup had been relatively simple. It always was. The boy took one final look around the room, reaffirming that he'd done a thorough sweep the first time, and then he walked quietly out the door.

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><p><em>Year 489<em>

"We thought it was just an isolated incident at first, I mean, a murder like that, you figure we'd hear about it if something like that was going on. We started asking some questions though, and turns out this has been going on for three and a half years now. So- "

Veld held up a hand. "You mean to tell me there's been a serial killer running around down there for _years_ and you just now realized it?" The officer shifted uncomfortably and Veld's eyes narrowed. "I hope you were here to request a team assigned to this, because that's what you're about to get. They'll be contacting you shortly for the case details." The dismissal in his tone was clear.

-o-o-o-

The streets were quieter than normal that day. The Slums were always more subdued than above the Plate, but the recent spate of murders had the citizens in Lower Midgar tense. Tseng personally thought they all deserved what they'd gotten. The victims were married, after all - several with children of their own - and it was fairly obvious at this point that the killer was one of the many child-prostitutes that littered the lower city. Littered, in Tseng's mind, because like so many of the city's dirty 'secrets' they were use and then casually thrown away. Last night's trash, not worth a second glance in the light of day. Tseng "threw away" plenty of trash in his job as a Turk, but he never _had_ understood how people could do such cruel things to their own children. Even perpetual abuse would be better than this studied indifference; at least it was some form of attention! What kind of world could possibly be built by people who'd been ignored their entire lives? No wonder the Slums were such a shithole.

Vincent ignored the denizens of Lower Midgar as much as he was able. For one thing, their lack of morals - and common sense - disgusted him. Oh, sure, let's abandon our children so that they have nowhere to turn and nothing of value except their bodies, and then freak the fuck out when they can't handle being ignored anymore and they lash out. What did these people expect, anyway? It was one of history's biggest lessons - the oppressed always rebel eventually. Personally he applauded the filthy little rat, whoever the brat was; the ignorant bastards had it coming. Speaking of filthy rats... his second biggest gripe about the people of Lower Midgar - gods, they smelled.

The two Turks continued towards Sector 4, habitually scanning for threats even as they each ruminated on the decrepit lower society. They were heading for the latest crime scene, the 15th according to the Midgar Police Department's ongoing investigation. Tseng suspected that there were more murders that the MPD wasn't aware of; if it had taken this long just to find out that this _was_ a serial killing then he doubted they'd found _all_ of them yet. Tseng didn't particularly care about any of the victims, and he doubted that Veld did either; now that the murders were in the press, however, ShinRa couldn't afford to let them go and Vincent would have to find answers quickly; he just hoped that the incompetence of the MPD wouldn't hinder their efforts.

-o-o-o-

There weren't any crime scene photographs from the previous murders, but the MPD had at least done a decent job with the current one so the Turks knew what to expect when they entered the hotel room. The inn was typical of the establishments in Lower Midgar: dirty gray walls, threadbare carpets, tired linens. These linens, of course, were soaked in blood and had a dead body lying on them. Tseng noted that the case officer, Jenkins, didn't seem too pleased by the Turks' lack of reaction to the body or its smell. Ignoring him, Tseng stepped to the bedside.

Five wounds. A sweeping slash across the torso, running from the lower right at the hip to the upper left on the chest. Another that crossed the first, starting just under the chest on the right and dragging across the gut to the left. A third dragging cut down the chest on the right. Two puncture wounds, one over the heart and one just above the collarbone, both perfectly positioned to deliver fatal wounds.

"Left-handed," Vincent murmured. Tseng nodded quietly. That narrowed the population down considerably; left-handed people were rare enough in Midgar, and there wouldn't be many young male prostitutes who would fit the bill.

Stepping back, Tseng looked over the rest of the body. Male, in his 30s. A father with a 15-year-old son, according to the case file. 15 was the average age of the male prostitutes in the Slums, a fact that Tseng found morbidly amusing when he noted that the body was still fully erect. Vincent was smirking too, and Tseng almost laughed aloud at the affronted look on Jenkins' face.

"Offended, Officer? Surely you can appreciate the irony, when you take into consideration the age of the man's son." Stepping away from the bed, Tseng shrugged in dismissal. "I don't suppose the witness statements from the previous murders mentioned whether the other bodies were in the same condition?"

Jenkins scowled at him. "Why would that matter? The wound patterns are the same by the sound of it, and the other victims fit the same profile as this one - married men known for soliciting young boys. I'm sure their families are embarrassed enough without giving details like _that_."

Vincent fixed the officer with a sharp glare. "It _matters_ because it tells us something about the killer. You have a case that's been going on beneath your notice for nearly four years. You have no evidence, no autopsies or forensics except what you're getting from _this_ case. Trust me, _Officer_, with how little info you're able to give us we need as much information about the killer's MO as we can possibly get."

"You will have your officers return to the witnesses, and you will have them get more details on the condition of the body," Tseng stepped in. "I'm sorry that you somehow have sympathy for the so-called dignity of these low-life scumbags, but this is our investigation now, and _we_ have _no_ sympathy for the incompetence displayed by your department. The President himself is demanding answers on this, and gods help you if I have to tell him that you're holding us up."

Jenkins paled, nodded, and hurried out the door.

"I'll have Cissnei grab one of the junior Turks and start questioning the prostitutes. They'll probably get answers faster than these idiots will." Tseng nodded and Vincent pulled out his PHS to make the call.

-o-o-o-

"What _I _don't understand is how this kid has managed to convince this guy that it's ok for him to have a knife so close at hand. I mean, it's pretty obvious he killed them in the act, so to speak, so he had to have the knife right there, right?"

Tseng scooped some noodles up with his chopsticks, considering Cissnei's words. "I suppose he could have passed it off as a safety issue or joked it away. Now that this is in the news it may be more difficult for him to convince his victims to allow it."

"Not necessarily," Vincent objected. "It could give him more reason to have a knife at hand, especially with so many of the prostitutes in hiding right now. All the press knows is that there's someone killing johns, _possibly_ one of the boys. There's enough fear about the boys being next though that it would make sense for them to begin protecting themselves."

The four Turks, Veld included, were gathered for a late dinner of Wutaiian take-out at the office. Cissnei's questioning of the prostitutes had confirmed that the other bodies were killed mid-coitous as well; unfortunately none of the people that she'd questioned were left-handed or knew anyone who was. The investigation was at a stand-still for the time being, until someone new came forward with information or until another murder took place. It was a bad position to be in but with the crappy forensics provided by the MPD there was nothing else that they could do.

Tseng sighed. "We'll have to continue canvasing the area to see if we can dig anything new up. If we can get the news outlets to put out a request for info, maybe someone will come forward."

Veld nodded his acceptance of the plan and the four continued to eat in silence, each wondering when the next murder would occur.

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><p><strong>AN:**

Sorry for such long breaks between updates. I've been deployed, so haven't really had a lot of energy for writing (plus my laptop fried itself mid-deployment).

I'm writing this from my tablet, which doesn't have spell-check, so feel free to point out any errors that you spot!


	3. Chapter 2

**Warnings:**

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><p><em>Chapter Two<em>

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><p><em>Year 489<em>

Tseng walked quietly through the streets, his opinion of the locals mostly unchanged since his last trip to the Slums. His scan of the area was casual and unconcerned; most people down here posed no threat to a Turk, and Vincent was trailing him wearing civilian clothes. The people that he passed avoided him almost as a matter of course; people usually did when they spotted his suit. It made him feel like a ship gliding through turbulent waters with him at the calm center. He appreciated the effect – when nearly everyone around him responded in the same manner, the eddies of discontent made it easy to spot the few who didn't fall into the pattern. It allowed him to focus on other things.

Two months and three murders had passed since his first meeting with the MPD and the Turks were no closer to closing in on their suspect. Whoever he was, he was good at cleaning up and good at going unnoticed. That, or his fellow citizens were just terrible at noticing details; Tseng suspected it was at least partly the latter. Those who "saw" him invariably described his clothes and hat as a nondescript grey, which was pretty much useless. Everything in the Slums turned the color of dirt eventually anyway. Facial descriptions varied; some said he had facial scars, some said they were tattoos, some said he had nothing on his face at all. No one could really describe the scars or tattoos, of course, nor could they recall his eye color. Vincent doubted that the so-called witnesses were even describing the same individual, and Tseng was inclined to agree with him.

Now, finally, they had a witness that might actually be credible. One of the Turks' CIs, known for his attention to detail, had called Veld two days ago requesting a meeting. He had apparently been staying in the inn that the most recent murder occurred at, and he saw a young male prostitute leaving the inn at around the right time to be the killer. Tseng hoped the kid was the right one – with the CI's description they would finally be able to build a reliable facial sketch, but it wouldn't do much good if they had the wrong person. That sort of inn hosted a lot of unsavory characters, so there was no real guarantee.

Tseng was only two blocks away from the meeting site when something pulled him out of his thoughts. When he thought back on it later, he couldn't really even pick out what first caught his attention, just something _different_ about the way the boy was walking. He wasn't much to look at really, dressed in worn out clothes and conveying the general aura of malnourishment common to most children in the Slums. The brightest thing about him was his hair, which would probably have caught Tseng's attention just for the novelty of the color. It wasn't that though, or the thin red scars on his face, or even the idle twirling of a small stick in his left hand. Tseng watched him without slowing, trying to look without making it obvious that he was staring but it wasn't until the boy glanced his way – oh so casually and completely unconcerned – that Tseng knew what had caught his attention. The boy wasn't afraid.

Tseng stopped quietly once the boy passed, turned to face him. His CI was waiting only a block and a half away, maybe with the key to breaking the case. Vincent, a block away, paused as well, inspecting the wares on a street cart. Tseng glanced at him, briefly caught his eye, walked silently after the boy.

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><p>The boy turned, just a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the Turk was still walking the other direction. The Turk was right behind him.<p>

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><p>Tseng was almost within arm's reach when the boy turned, another oh-so-casual glance to make sure he wasn't being followed. There was a moment, the briefest pause, when Tseng thought the boy was actually going to stop, surprised and maybe even afraid, and Tseng thought that maybe he was wrong about him. Then the boy bolted.<p>

Tseng was caught by surprise – the boy was fast. Down the street, Vincent tossed the magazine he was looking at aside and sprinted to intercept him. Tseng was momentarily relieved; there were no side streets between him and Vincent, so the boy had nowhere to run to. When the boy spotted Vincent and hooked a hard right, Tseng even allowed himself a small grin; the grocery store that the boy was heading towards was one of the few shops on the street that didn't have a back entrance to the alley either.

The boy wasn't running to the store. Like many of the buildings in that Sector, the walls of the store were old brick, pitted and cracked. The mortar has crumbled in some spots from age and neglect, leaving cracks and holes behind. The boy went straight up the wall, faster than Tseng would have believed possible. No longer smiling, he followed.

The ensuing chase took far longer than Tseng liked. The boy was not only fast but also utterly fearless when it came to heights – Tseng thought it somewhat suicidal, personally. He was relieved when the boy abandoned the rooftops in favor of the alleyways. The Turk was reasonably certain that the kid could outrun him on a straightaway, but the twists and turns of the alleys allowed Tseng to keep in in sight for the most part. Vincent was nowhere to be seen; he hadn't followed them onto the rooftops. Tseng hoped he was able to get enough PHS signal to track Tseng's movement and get a map of the alleys. They were in a new Sector and the boy hadn't made any attempt to vanish into a bolt hole somewhere, so with any luck he was as lost as Tseng was and Vincent would be able to find a spot to head them off.

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><p>The boy was confident when he climbed the wall of the grocery store and took off along the rooftops. He knew that he was a fast climber, and he expected to lose the dark-haired Turk quickly. As the chase continued and he resorted to more and more desperate routes to try and lose his pursuer, he realized that he may be outmatched. He dropped to the ground in hopes of losing the Turk around a turn but he was never able to make a second turn before the Turk rounded the corners behind him. As they travelled out of the Sector and into an area that he was unfamiliar with, the boy started to worry. The other Turk, the one in street clothes, was nowhere to be seen; the boy didn't know whether he should be happy about that or not. This Sector was more structured and developed than his normal haunting grounds, with street signs on most of the corners and cameras scattered everywhere; it was why he avoided the area. Everyone knew that the Turks had access to the best technology, and if that other Turk was able to access the camera systems or map the area… The boy ran on, truly afraid for the first time that day.<p>

Tseng cursed when the boy put on a spurt of speed and darted around another corner. He was getting tired, and the boy was slowly putting more distance between them. If he made it around a second corner before Tseng could get him back in sight, he probably wouldn't be able to catch him again.

The boy should have picked the other direction. The street that he turned onto was a long one with no side alleys; it made an L-turn at the far end, with no indication of where that might lead. The boy was too tired to take to the rooftops again, too tired after his last burst of speed to keep putting distance between himself and his follower. He prayed that the street turned onto a main thoroughfare instead of into a dead end; losing himself in a crowd was his only chance of escaping now. He was just over halfway to the turn when he heard the Turk round the corner behind him; he was almost to the far end when the other Turk stepped out in front of him. There was nowhere else for him to go.

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><p>'<em>This kid is full of surprises today,'<em> Tseng thought, sighing when the boy pivoted and came dashing back towards him. Tseng couldn't fault his logic; if their places were reversed he would have done the same, risking facing an equally-tired pursuer rather than Vincent. Unfortunately it meant that Vincent, who appeared relatively fresh and had probably picked up their car rather than go running around the Slums, wouldn't be able to just knock the kid out and put a quick end to it. Tseng sighed again when the boy pulled out a knife.

It was a cruel-looking piece of equipment, its dark steel nearly six inches long and wickedly curved, designed for killing. Tseng suspected that he already knew what work that knife was capable of and he wished, not for the first time that day, that he could just shoot the boy and be done with the whole mess. Veld wanted answers though, an accurate body count amongst other things, and they needed the boy alive for that.

The fight was mercifully brief; Vincent put an end to it after all. The boy was completely untrained – not a big surprise all things considered – and Tseng was a skilled martial artist despite his fatigue. He fended off the boy's uncoordinated slashes and kicks until Vincent was able to find a safe opening to step in. The boy wasn't expecting the butt of a pistol to the back of his head and he went down to his knees quickly, the knife dropping from nerveless fingers. Tseng rolled his shoulders, giving Vincent a nod of thanks when he kicked the knife away. The boy rolled over to face him, reaching towards the blade, and Tseng gave him a swift and savage backhand. He curled in on himself after that, too stunned and tired for any further resistance.

Tseng knelt in front of the boy, careful to stay out of kicking range just in case. The boy wouldn't meet his gaze at first, stubbornly knuckling his own eyes to keep from crying. Tseng, impressed by the teen's tenacity, allowed him a minute to compose himself before speaking. "What's your name?"

The boy looked up at him, giving him his first clear look at the boy's eyes. _'Blue,'_ Tseng noted. _'And they're definitely scars, not tattoos.'_ Those blue eyes still carried a hint of defiance, and for a moment Tseng didn't think the boy was going to answer. Vincent stepped behind Tseng and the boy's eyes followed him carefully, watching as he picked up the knife. His gaze dropped again after that, but not before Tseng caught a glimpse of fury, then fear, then a terrible blankness that made Tseng's stomach churn. The boy's voice was dull and lifeless when he finally responded.

"Reno. My name is Reno."

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><p><strong>AN:**

Finally another update! I had a hard time figuring out how I wanted to transition the story…

Thanks for everyone who's still keeping an eye on this!


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